Red Rover
by LionQueen
Summary: Sequel to The Scarlet Thread - Patrick has to find a way to walk Corin through the same bitterness and loss that he, himself, has not truly escaped. Only they know the loss they share between them.
1. Red Kisses

** Red Rover** - _Sequel to The Scarlet Thread_

By: LionQueen (Based off of CBS - The Mentalist)

"_T__IGER__, tiger, burning bright__ In the forests of the night ..." _A peaceful darkness had settled in, so calm that not even a breeze disturbed it. Peaceful, except for a small voice. A whisper, soft but unwavering.

"_And what shoulder and what art__ Could twist the sinews of thy heart?" _She was moving through the darkness, her naked feet making no sound, as she strayed farther from the light behind her. She was following the voice, the whisper. She knew it. It was guiding her where eyes couldn't see … _she was getting closer_.

"_Did He smile His work to see?__ Did He who made the lamb make thee?" _There was something there, or perhaps someone. A flicker of the smallest light ... just a few more steps and she would reach it … _she would reach her_.

"_Abbie?_" Then the urgency set in. The light flickered ... as if threatening to disappear, and the voice with it. Careful footsteps became a stride which then turned into a run. She stumbled over debris under her bare feet … running faster … but she wasn't moving.

"_Abbie!" _There was a small figure there, far beyond her reach. It wasn't so much a figure, as it had no solidity about it. It was a mist, shapely and not very tall, as if an impression left there by a small child.

"_He said say goodbye!_"

"_NO."_ Her chest heaved in and out with hasty breaths. She blinked and then with all of the energy within, screamed the child's name once more, darting forward, towards the mist. Her outstretched arms were meant to grab onto and hold the figure, but the mist broke into wisps of vapor. The vapor moved between her fingers and then dissolved.

A bright beam tore through the darkness, shooting daggers of light into her eyes. Her arms flew up over her face as she jumped at the horn. "Crazy ass lady, get the hell out of the road. Are you nuts or somethin?"

The hem of her pale blue nightgown rippling in the breeze, she stepped back and then stared bleary-eyed at the car. She continued staring as the driver blurted a few more insults, concluding that she was truly in need of psychiatric help and then tore off, throwing up bits of gravel with the back wheels.

She stood there for a moment, blinking and following the road with her eyes. The fact that she'd walked out into the middle of the street in her sleep didn't seem to phase her. She turned and looked behind, to the path leading up to her house. She fixed her eyes on it for a moment and then began to wander aimlessly over to the side of the road.

She happened on a small path to the left. She didn't know the path, she didn't have a particular destination. Mind blank and thoughts scattered, she just followed it, not caring where it led.. There in her bare feet and the hem of her gown growing damp in the morning dew, she walked in the dark moments before sunrise.

The path turned into a bridge, overlooking the river below. It's rusty metal floor was unusually cool considering the muggy air, and slick from the dew. She gazed over the water, rippling with a strong current and turning pink under the coming break of day. She stood there for hours, breathing staggered.

And like the soulless raven, whispering _nevermore_, the birds chirped and flitted overhead as though they were mocking her.

_"You know, you're never gonna find a boyfriend if you don't talk, Mom." "No, it's my mess. I can clean it up." "Look at your daughter." "Everything I do, every decision I make … It's for Abbie. Do you understand me?" _

Her eyes tightly closed, she tried to will away the words. But they rolled through her head faster than movie credits.

"_... there's no one who could possibly feel what I feel ... know what I know." "I don't let people get close to her." "Are you going to let one event define you? Set the precedent for the rest of your life?" "He says to tell you …G … Goodbye." "Do you think he planned it this way? That he … Manipulated us?" _

Heavy with the emptiness within, she quietly moved over the rail and placed her feet on the wet, serrated edges as if she were perched on the edge of a blade. Shivering, her gown tossed in the breeze while she fixed a steady gaze over the tumbling water underneath the bridge.

_D_id He smile His work to see?__ Did He who made the lamb make thee?_ _The vapor moved between her fingers and then dissolved. _ _She was alone.

** Chapter 1 : Red Kisses**

It was a muggy, sticky kind of morning, not typical of the season. _Not what most people would consider typical for California._ A bleary, sun was breaking over the quiet suburban neighborhood, saying hello to the setting moon.

Beneath the dull haze, a trailer, rustic and rather out of place, sat parked within the splay of brick homes surrounding it. The neighborhood was either sleeping still or barely awake.

The CBI had organized a raid just after dawn. Anthony Sheldon was their target. Not only was he a popular drug dealer but he had also been supplying guns to the leader of a very powerful gang. They had hoped to arrest him and offer a deal in exchange for information and his testimony.

They didn't count on their plan failing.

"All clear." A males voice poured out of the doorway. This was Kimball Cho, the poker-faced Asian man, who could typically be found reading a book in the middle of a stake-out or beating Rigsby to the donuts in the office. He had swayed up to the door of the trailer, but noticed the door had already been opened before he knocked.

He and Wayne went in first. They poked around a little, but the one room trailer was so small that there wasn't much space to cover.

"Yes, Yes ...of course. " Patrick Jane mumbled, sauntering in as if the trailer belonged to him.

"Uh .. Uh Jane" Lisbon protested and then shook her head. "… I swear."

It was a daily challenge, both doing her job and keeping Jane in check. Now, here he was, bolting forward as a kid running after the ice cream truck. She let out a sigh, shook her head and then fell in line through the door.

Van Pelt was next. She tossed a palm over her mouth and nose once inhaling the sharp pungent odor. "What _is_ that?"

Rigsby tilted his head over the couch in the center of the room. "That is ... Mr. Sheldon." Then he tilted his head back towards Grace. "At least I think."

In Cho's initial assessment, he'd failed to mention the dead body melting in the heat. Yet, it's presence was obvious as the nose on your face.

The home was rather neat, considering it's occupant. The floors were carpeted and bare. A small older model television unit was set atop a small coffee table across from the couch. One would assume Sheldon slept on the couch as there was no bed to be found, if there was room for one at all.

"Well, '' Lisbon noted. " Looks like Pike got to him first and … Jane, what are you doing? … Jane? "

Patrick peeked over the refrigerator door, one side of his mouth curling upwards. " Oh, just looking."

He straightened himself upright, feeling duped at coming up empty handed, when he was hoping for a leftover something. Every kitchen, even the ones belonging to the most hardened criminals, had something to eat, some sort of tasty snack lurking around. Potato chips, cookies … a muffin maybe?

This one was bare … who ever heard of such a thing … not even a crumb.

He was sniffing around the cubbard above the stove when he stiffened slightly at the thump to the right of him. It wasn't so much the thump that disturbed him, but the four guns aimed in his general direction.

Patrick Jane hated guns. They were distasteful things, necessary - but unsettling. Every time his eyes moved over one, or his ears heard the familiar " pop", he was reminded that eventually he would have to push aside all this uneasiness, the rational part of himself, and let the crazy out. Regardless of what anyone else believed, or whatever faith they had invested in him. He knew, as sure as the breath moving through his chest ... the moment would come.

He slid his hand out of his pocket and waved off their concern, unconsciously and without actual words, saying "Put those things away."

Ignoring Lisbon's verbal warning, he stepped deliberately to his right, as the others leaned forward. They leaned forwards even more when he ducked down, beyond their view.

Lisbon lifted her chin a bit, thinking the last time he'd disappeared behind a car door. He'd, then, reappeared with with a baby in his arms. What would it be this time? A puppy ?

His golden locks rose up from behind the counter along with his usual sheepish grin. Tucked in his arms was a ball of auburn fur and a black nose with a hint of a pink tongue. Lisbon nodded her head. A puppy.

"Oh how cute!" Grace's face lit up as a girlish smile spread across her cheeks.

Lisbon glanced at Van Pelt with a hint of envy. Grace was tough enough to catch a criminal and soft enough to gush over babies and puppies. She could do her job and yet still walk away retaining her caring, nurturing nature. Something Lisbon found very difficult to do while keeping up her hard exterior.

When Lisbon had endured as much of the mush as she could stand, she set her shoulders back and drew a breath. "Ok. Nothing left for us here … let's go."

The emt's were weaving their way into the cramped trailer as the CBI team left one by one through the door and out into the open air.

"Oh thank God." Rigsby blurted. "I thought I was gonna barf in there … that smell."

He turned to Cho, who's expression had not changed from the moment they walked into the door until they walked out again. "How the hell can you do that?"

"Do what? " Cho responded, gazing straight forwardly at Rigsby.

'Well you … I mean it was ….the odor in there … and ..." Wayne tried to continue, but Cho's unbroken expressionless gaze wouldn't allow him. He shook his head as he turned from Cho. "Never mind."

Cho shrugged and then headed for the car.

Lisbon was almost to the drivers side when she spotted Jane cuddling a box under his arm. "Jane, please don't tell me ..."

Patrick made his way around the front end until he was standing next to her. "What?"

A black nose popped up from the edge of the box, threw out a long pink tongue and licked Lisbon's cheek. He smirked, turning to get into the back seat.

"Ok. I won't tell you."

"Jane, you can't bring that puppy into the CBI."

"Oh, shush. " He playfully bit back. " Must you be so anal about everything? "

Cho sitting in the middle next to him, reached a hand out to the puppy.

Rigsby slid into the seat across from Jane, holding his head down, attempting to hide his own smirk. This earned him an elbow poke from Van Pelt who was seated on the passengers side.

"Anal!" Lisbon grumbled. "Anal? You don't even know anal, so don't talk about what you don't know. We're going back to the station and then you are going to do something with that dog! "

"Ok."

"I don't care " She continued as if he'd begun telling her what he would do with it " …. but you are not bringing it into CBI ... that's final."

"Ok." He repeated until she glared at him from the rear view mirror. " You better not be mocking me."

"Bah! Mock you?" He laughed. "Now why would I do that?"

"Just get rid of that dog!"

* * *

><p>Hello fellow writers! Hope things are well with you. I've had this story, as well as my story from Lost, rolling around in my head for quite sometime now. I've also still got my Christmas fic for The mentalist coming ... my personal life has just taken over. Anyway, early on during the first season of The mentalist, I began writing "The Scarlet Thread." The reviews were wonderful and the reviewers were equally wonderful.<p>

There are a few blunders in that one which I will eventually revisit and fix - Cho's name and Rigsby's dad, for instance. If you've read the first part of the story then you know what's up. If you haven't read it, then you'll miss some of the nuances but you still might enjoy the story anyway. Hope you like and I'll try to update soon. Thanks! ~ LionQueen


	2. Red Current

** Red Rover - _Sequel to The Scarlet Thread_**

By: LionQueen

** Chapter two: Red Currents**

Patrick knew something wasn't right as soon as he turned into the yard. He parked the Citroen, stepped out of the drivers side and paused.

The front door of the house was completely open.

He glanced into the passengers side of the Citroen, to the house and then back into the car. A groan escaped his throat and then he gathered the box under his arm, setting it down again once he reached the front porch. Another pause, as he stared through the living room, all the way to the stairs leading up to the second floor.

This was too familiar. _Too poignantly familiar._

_His wheels were eating the ground beneath them when he reached her yard. He came to a sharp stop, flying out of the drivers side and surveying the area. Corin's car was there, but the door on the driver's side was still open. He sucked in air, letting his eyes trail off to the front porch. The front door of the house was open too. He sprinted from the car to the porch, but then stopped at the edge, staring through the house._

_He'd been here before. _

_He pushed the door open further, feeling a tightness in his chest. Then he took a step into the house. He was afraid to call out to her, afraid of what he was going to discover somewhere there, on the other side his voice. _

Standing there now, in the door frame, he remembered stepping inside the house and the hollow thump his shoes made on the hardwood floor. He remembered how the sound of his breath was louder than the silence gripping the house itself.

_Not a third time. _

He called her name. "Corin?"

His own voice did not return to him, much less Corin's. The only sound was a quiet hiss from the television set.

Lips pursed into an "O", he sucked in air. "_Get it together Patrick. Focus … Think. Think it through." _

He'd made it into the center of the house and then there was a crunch beneath his feet. Some sort of glass he thought. A quick glance to the left confirmed that it was indeed one of the wine glasses that had apparently spilled off the rack. Rigsby had spent an entire Sunday building that shelf and wine rack, while Patrick relaxed on the couch munching on chex mix.

Still, it was obvious, that to Corin, it was just a house. It had ceased to be a home since that day. That red Monday when any thoughts of home bled crimson across the walls of her child's bedroom.

His eyes strayed from the rack, to the floor and then up again until he found himself eying the corner. To the left was Abbie's room. It was as real now, just months later, as it had been on that day.

_His heart wasn't even beating anymore, or so it seemed, while he fixed his eyes on Abbie's door. The one he was gawking at in the here and now, terrified to walk through. _

_He was frozen in his own flashback of another long hallway, and another ominous door waiting for him. A door that obscured behind it the worst horror anyone could imagine. _

_The bodies of his loved ones. _

_Gasping short heaves of air, he spread his palm over the smooth wood and pushed. The creak was painfully loud and disturbing as the door slowly gave way._

_He saw them at the same time. The flashback of the red-smiley face dripping down the wall, smeared so meticulously over the bodies of his wife and child, simultaneously with the one he was staring at in the here and now. A fresh stain of red, a crimson stain smiling at him ... taunting him._

_First you see the face, and then you feel the dread. _

He jumped, and then froze. Sighing, he did a reset in his head. The sound that jolted him was a creaking floorboard. But he was so aware of everything, so sensitive to every sound, every scent.

A glimpse to the right, Corin's bedroom door was open.

As he moved around the couch, he noted a few of the books had spilled from the bookshelf and across the floor. The pillows were jostled about on the couch and viewing the bedroom from where he stood, he was inclined to assume that she had fallen asleep on the couch while watching the idiot box. He retrieved the remote from the floor and turned off the hissing television set.

The fallen books and the shattered glass on the floor seemed to indicate an accident rather than a struggle. He turned and then noticed what he had missed. Small drips of blood, just a few, leading outside of the door. She cut herself on the glass as she ran out._ Ran out in her bare-feet? _

He grimaced slightly knowing his task just got harder.

It was nine-thirty. He stepped out of the door, noting a few drops of blood on the porch, as well. _"What were you running from?"_ He whispered into the air.

Throwing a glance into the sky, he reached for the phone buzzing in his pants pocket.

"Yes."

"Jane, where are you?"

"Lisbon … I'm busy right now. "

"Well, we've got a lead on the Pike case … I'd like ..."

"Ok …" He interrupted. "I understand. Lemme call you back."

"Jane … are you ok? Is there something going on that I should know about?"

He was at the edge of the driveway, staring out into the street when he noticed it. He'd driven over it at first, but now, standing there, it was easy to see. "Uh … yea ...No, everything's peachy … Just a little tied up at the moment. Talk to you later."

He switched the phone to voice mail and then strode out over the asphalt road. He bent down and ran a finger over the black skid mark.

"Hey Mister, what're you doin?"

A young boy, who looked no older than thirteen, was eying him from the other side of the road. Perched atop his bicycle seat, he had one foot on the peddle and the other on the ground.

"Looking for a friend. Maybe you've seen her."

"You mean that lady? The one who lives in that house over there?"

Patrick was now standing erect. "You've seen her?"

"Yea, she almost got hit by that car this mornin. The one that left those marks there."

"Where were you?"

"I was doin my route. She ran out in the road. I don't think she even knew the car was there. She was still in her nightgown an' all."

The boy continued by telling Patrick that the man had paused long enough to curse at her and then he drove away, leaving her standing in the road alone. He had watched her move from there to the shoulder and then slowly make her way up the road, away from her house.

"Looked like she was goin towards the river, maybe."

"The river?"

"Yea, that's about all's up there."

Patrick nodded, mostly to himself. He already knew where the river was, but his mind was whirling. He nodded again, in acknowledgment to the boy and then he made his way up the road.

He was relieved to have not found her body in her house, but a knot grew in his stomach as he thought about what other possibilities lurked. _Damn Red John._

Others were wasting their breath, foolishly attempting to talk him out of his quest for revenge. Especially when his motivation grew stronger every day, with every atrocity he witnessed.

He'd heard it said by some people that there were certain things they wouldn't wish on their most hated enemies. He would wish it all on Red John, and more. If he could prolong the man's death for eternity just to see him suffer, while pleading for death, it wouldn't be enough. It wouldn't completely quench the burning fire within. Revenge wasn't even close to describing what was in his heart.

He came upon the path Corin had taken earlier that morning. He considered the small dirt trail and then noticed something glinting in the dirt. A silver dangle earring with a hooked back. It wasn't one he particularly recognized as belonging to Corin, but it was reason enough for him to follow the trail.

This was not like the night he'd found her in Apollo's stall. It seemed as though the world had stopped moving that night. There were no chirping crickets and the horses were quiet. But now, the birds were singing as they flitted between trees and soared above his head. The tree leaves rustled under the occasional brush of wind. The scent of fresh water was becoming more noticeable.

There was the bridge. He blinked, was the figure he saw there real?

A few more steps revealed it was.

Dressed in just a blue nightgown, her hair fell loosely around her shoulders, and half covered her face. Pale and still as a statue, she looked like a ghost, standing there in her bare-feet, on the other side of the railing, and gazing out over the water. He wasn't certain if she were actually awake, or sleepwalking.

His jaw grew tight with thoughts running rampant in his mind. Was this man the devil? Surely he _was_ the devil, able to torture and taunt the innocent. As tangible as the wind, his effects were seen everywhere, but he himself was invisible. Or so it seemed.

It seemed, yes, but Jane knew Red John was a man. A man who could not stay hidden forever.

His feet slipped onto the metal bridge with a lite clank as he moved in closer. Then he glanced down at the water. Of all the rivers in California, she would find the one that wasn't yet dry. But then, maybe that was a good thing.

"Did He smile His work to see? Did He who made the lamb make thee?"

Her voice startled him, given he wasn't expecting her to say anything at all. But if anything, especially not this. Muscles tensed, all he could manage was

"What?"

There was a pause, uncomfortable and disturbing. Her next words were very different as if she hadn't said the others. "Why are you staring at me Patrick?"

He swallowed, struggling to bring his thoughts under control, and then put on a boyish expression. "I was hungry. Figured I'd find something to eat at your house. But, now I'm thinking ..."

"That I might jump?"

He hadn't expected her to be so blunt either. The casual delivery was chilling. But he knew he couldn't react to it.

"Jump?" He chuckled. " Na ...I ...Well..."

He didn't like the way she looked. She hadn't broken her stare from the river, hadn't moved. Somehow she'd managed to worry him more, now that he'd found her, than when he didn't know where she was.

"Ok … Well, the thought had crossed my mind …" He admitted, eying her carefully. He was next to her now, railing between them, the wind tossing strands of her hair into his face .

"It would be easy, wouldn't it?" She responded in a calm quiet tone. "Do you think the water's cold down there?"

"Probably." He muttered dully.

"Would it pull me under quickly?"

Heart racing, he tried to pretend she had not asked those questions and slipped a hand around her arm."Come on, let's get you back home."

Wayne would have went nuts hearing her speak this way. She could say anything to Patrick, but this was the first time she'd sensed true fear in him. She smiled and then let him help her over the railing.

"How did you find me anyway?"

She was trying to cover it up. Her expression had changed, but the hopelessness stirred beneath the smile as steady as the current running underneath that bridge. It was something he understood and something she couldn't hide from him.

She made the mistake of glancing into his eyes, felt a surge of emotion and then dropped her gaze.

"Right." She said, flicking her eyebrows upward and then letting them drop. "Dumb question. Who could possibly hide from Patrick Jane's 'Victim's of Red John' radar?"

"Corin, look at me."

He slipped his hand under her chin, prompting her to lift her head. And then he continued.

"You know it's pointless to hide your feelings from me. You can scream, you can speak all those dark thoughts out loud … to me. You won't scare me. … Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

She understood him.

Regardless of what she said, or did, he would not call her sanity into question. Not like others would. But if anyone else knew he'd just found her standing on the edge of a bridge, in her nightgown, she would be committed.

"You don't want other people telling you when to eat, when to go to sleep, when to wake-up. You don't need them telling you what and how to think."

"I know." She said softly, and then watched him squat down in front of her. "What are you doing?"

"Give me your foot."

"What?"

"Your foot, the one you cut on the wineglass in your house."

The wineglass? "_I _don't even know how I cut my foot, how on earth ..."

He patted his knee until she placed her foot there, while grasping the rail with one hand. "You fell asleep on the couch while watching T.V. You had a nightmare and stumbled out of the house in your sleep. You hit the wine rack on your way out. A wineglass broke on the floor and you cut your foot."

He yanked a handkerchief from his pocket which reminded her of when he'd given her the boat in the bottle. It slipped from her hands and shattered across the floor.

_"No, it's my mess. I can clean it up." She retorted, staggering over to the chaos on the floor._

_He stood over her while she knelt down, frantically sweeping the fragments into the dustpan, until she whimpered softly, recoiling her hand. This time he was much more persistent as he squatted down beside her, noting the drop of crimson staining the remaining glass. "Let me see."_

_He wasn't accepting no for an answer, as he took her hand in his, examining the cut until he was confident that she had not suffered a major injury. _

_"It's kinda deep." He yanked a handkerchief from his pocket. "Just put a little pressure on it, like this, and I'll finish cleaning this up."_

"It was Abbie. I could hear her calling me. I could see her right in front of me, but I couldn't reach her. I got confused, there was a light. It was a headlight. I was in the middle of the road."

He didn't have any antiseptic spray or anything to clean the cut with. So, he brushed it off as gently as he could and then wrapped the handkerchief around the foot and stood up. "That will do till we get back to the house. I think we can make it from here."

It was almost eleven when they returned. He walked her up the stairs and to the couch and then made his way to the kitchen. He gave her a cup of tea while he did a better job of cleaning the wound on her foot. He would never let the team know he could be so handy when it came to injuries.

She set the cup down and then sighed. "Maybe you're wrong. Maybe I _should _be in an institution."

Placing a direct stare into her eyes, he placed his hand firmly on her arm. "You're just tired. You've had a rough night and now you're feeling very tired. Very sleepy. "

He was right, she did feel tired.

"You should just lay back and close your eyes. You'll fall asleep."

When she was sleeping, he pulled the throw from over the back of the couch and placed it over her.

He had told her she could tell him anything. That nothing she could say would scare him. It wasn't altogether true, however. She _could_ say anything to him

… But she had scared him.

* * *

><p>Thank you everyone who stopped by and read the last chapter, and what a delight that some of you actually went back and read The Scarlet Thread. :) I also would like to thank Anna and MentalistLover for their reviews! Hopefully more of my readers will let me know what they think as well :) ( I do not mind honest, constructive comments at all.)<p>

I'm trying to incorporate some pieces from The Scarlet Thread into this story just to give this one more clarity and to help bring into focus where I am coming from in certain places.

In my last story, someone wondered about Patrick's attraction to Corin. I think it's multifaceted. His initial interest was peaked simply because he identified her as someone with something to hide. Then he discovered that she was Rigsby's sister and Rigsby was desperate to get her to settle down close to him. The home run was when he realized she was connected to Red John. This was concrete when Abbie gave him the note card with the smiley face on it.

Initially, it was never about wooing her romantically as it was Patrick's natural inclination towards digging up that which someone has taken such extreme measures to bury. But as he spent more time with her, it became apparent that they were connected. Whatever happens beyond that is yet to be seen.


	3. Red Banana Bread

Hello fellow fanfiction peeps. :) I made a decision to just replace rather than edit the first posting of this chapter. This is because while there is minor editing throughout the first part down to the middle, there is a big rewrite from the middle to the end. The way it was written didn't sit well with me considering the direction I was aiming for this piece to go. I will probably revisit the scenario, but not in the way it was originally written. Thanks in advance for your interest and for your reviews! ~ L.Q.

**Red Rover - By LionQueen ** _Sequel to The Scarlet Thread_

**Chapter two: Red Banana Bread  
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Three p.m.

She had flipped to her side in her sleep, arm dangling off of the edge of the couch and fingertips grazing the floor. She may have continued sleeping this way, were it not for the strange sensation that jolted her awake. At first it was something cold and wet bumping against her hand. Then it was something rough and wet sliding across her fingers.

Groggy, she flew up and off of the couch, throwing a confused gaze at the floor.

"Everything alright?" Patrick asked, walking in, closing the front door behind hm.

"Alright?" She echoed, looking at him and then back to the floor. "I ..."

"Maybe I should make some more tea. Tea is good for you."

_Maybe she should get more mousetraps or rodent traps or something … _She responded in her head.

"I don't want tea." Was what she answered out loud. She flicked another glance at the floor, blinked and then looked up again. "Why are you still here?"

"To make sure you were alright, of course." Then he added. "I also got rid of the glass on the floor, put the books back on the shelf, laid out some puppy pads and ..."

"Wait … what?" She replied, but there was no time for another response from Patrick. Something cold and wet touched her feet sending her upright atop the couch, gasping and shrieking. She caught site of a blur of auburn bolting under the couch and then across the floor towards Patrick.

Patrick witnessed the event unfold as if it were a scene from a sitcom. He reached down and scooped up the ball of fur while commenting wryly. "Now that's the Corin I know."

Huffing and puffing, standing in the middle of her couch, she stared at Patrick and the furry critter, forming words in her throat. "What ...What is that?"

It was a rhetorical question, of course.

Then, as if the universe had decided there wasn't enough excitement, there was a yell at the front door, a hard yank at the door handle and then the unthinkable. A loud thud and the door flew open.

Standing in the doorway, along side Rigsby. this moment would ultimately become permanently seared into Kimball Cho's memory.

A jaw dropped Corin, wearing only a nightgown, perched in the middle of her couch. Patrick, behind the couch, holding a teacup in one hand and a puppy in the other. Both of them staring at Rigsby, who, gun in hand, while crouched inside the shadow of the doorway, flicked confused glances between the two of them.

He and Rigsby had been on their way back from checking out a lead on Pike when Rigsby decided to detour. His sister, Corin, had not been answering either phone, her cell or the land line, since early that morning. He assumed it was no coincidence when he learned the Lisbon had been having trouble reaching Jane as well.

Rigsby saw Jane's car just before he pulled into the yard. Rigsby made no verbal remarks, but Cho knew that Jane being there bothered him, and though he would never discuss it with his partner, he knew why.

Rigsby parked the car. They were both stepping out when they heard the scream.

Rigsby tossed a quick look at Cho, drew his weapon and then yelled Corin's name, while sprinting across the yard and up the wooden stairs, Cho on his heals. Rigsby drew his gun up to his face, gave a nod to Cho and then kicked the door open.

There they were. Corin gawping at him from the couch and Patrick gazing at him from behind the couch. He straightened his posture, while trying to straighten out his expression. "What the hell … What … What's going on here?"

Corin, who seemed to have ignored her brother out-rightly, ran a hand through her hair, while stepping down from the couch, then repeated blandly. "Puppy pads."

"What?" Wayne responded moving into the living room.

"That's right." Patrick responded. "There's also a gate for the kitchen and puppy chow in the pantry."

"Ok, enough!" Wayne blurted. "Jane, what are you doing here and Corin, aside from the fact that you were on top of the couch screaming, why are you in your gown at three in the afternoon?"

She looked at Patrick.

"No." Wayne barked. "Dammit, don't look at him ... Look at me!"

She did look at Wayne, as well as fold her arms across her chest. "Wayne Rigsby, you are not Dad! And I am not one of your perps you haul down to the station and interrogate, I'm your sister! Don't you ever talk to me like that!"

She yanked the throw from off of the floor, folding it as she continued the tirade. "And what business is it of yours what time of day I'm wearing what item of clothing? This is my house and I can do whatever I want in it!"

She chucked the folded up throw over the back of the couch and then announced she was taking a shower. "Oh, I forgot ... do I need to ask permission for that too?"

"No." Wayne sighed, his speech a bit softer. "No, you don't."

"Good." She noted, then eyed Patrick. "As for you … when I come back out here, I'd better not see a hint of any dog, cat or furry animal or any animal in my house. No puppy pads, no gates, no puppy chow, no videos, no pictures, no stuffed animals ... nothing."

She threw a glance at Cho that made him fear she might aim some verbal ammo in his direction, then she drew a breath. Without any other words, she marched into the bedroom, firmly shutting the door behind her.

Her back to the door, she pressed her lips tightly together. She could have killed Patrick, but he was right about one thing. Wayne couldn't know the real reason why she looked as if she'd just woken up or why Patrick was there. The idea of his sister sleepwalking out into the road, then talking of jumping into the river was just not something he'd be ready to digest.

He had never wanted to be like his dad. He never wanted to hurt people or dominate them like his father. He had always been sensitive towards this, and she was completely aware of it.

So, as much as she hated manipulating him, she used this emotional weakness, hoping he would feel so guilty that he would stop asking questions.

She made her way to the bathroom and then disrobed. The shower should have felt refreshing, but right now, it just felt like water.

The three men were left standing in the living room as if their feet were glued to the floor.

Rigsby stared at the bedroom for a few moments, and then glanced at Jane.

"Fire away." Was Jane's response to the bewildered Rigsby.

But Rigsby just set his gun back in its holster and shook his head. "I'm not even gonna ask."

Jane smiled at Rigsby noting that Corin had done a thorough job playing on Wayne's insecurities.

He placed the gate across the kitchen entrance and then made his way towards the coffee table.

"Hang on a sec." Rigsby protested. "You can't leave all that here. Corin will blow a gasket!"

"Bah, Corin will be fine. " Jane smirked. " She just needs something to take care of."

He stooped down and wrote a note, placed it on the coffee table.

Rigsby glared as he watched Patrick walk out of the front door. He started to remove everything himself, but thought better of it. If there was one thing he knew, it was that Corin didn't inherit the short fuse from their mother. That came straight from their Dad. So, if Jane was going to pull such a move, then he could deal with the phone rage at whatever hour it might be.

The hour was around 10 pm. Later than Jane expected. He was at the cafe' sipping Chai. This was where he went most nights when he grew tired of rolling around in bed, waiting for the sun to rise. He waved at the waitress while retrieving the buzzing phone from his pocket.

"Another?" She asked, taking the empty cup.

He nodded and then pointed at the picture of banana bread on the menu, then put the phone to his ear.

"Corin! How was your shower?"

Silence.

He waited and then looked at the phone. It was still connected to the call. "Corin?"

He gave a quick nod to the waitress when she returned with a fresh cup of tea and a plate of sliced banana bread. Then he spoke into the phone again. "Well, I expected you to be mad about the puppy but ..."

She was on the other end of the phone, sitting upright on the edge of the couch. She had finished her shower, and after about a half hour or so of staring at the ceiling from her bed, she'd roused herself.

She'd exited the bedroom and then heard the whining. Rolling her eyes, she'd gone to the kitchen and stared down at the auburn colored lab. He'd left it even after she'd made it clear that she didn't want it. Jaw tightening, she'd went looking for the phone, which she found on the coffee table in front of the couch.

She had intended on calling him and giving him a piece of her mind, but instead lowered herself down on the couch. She'd found the the note.

"You're right, Patrick." She confirmed. " I am furious about the dog. Why in hell do you always pull these kind of stunts? I don't understand it."

He only half listened. She hadn't said anything new. Nothing different from what she'd already said before. So, he took a bite from the banana bread, sipped his coffee and read the newspaper while waiting for her to finish. When he heard a pause, he spoke.

"I accompanied Lisbon and team on a raid this morning." He set the piece of bread down for a moment, once he'd felt the gag reflex coming on. "Phew, the place stunk worse than rotten fish in ninety degree weather."

"What?"

His mouth curled up a little and then he continued. "The man was dead, and had been dead for several hours or more before we got there. There wasn't even a crumb left to munch on. It was a huge disappointment."

Her hand naturally tightened around the phone as she rolled her eyes. "Patrick, did you hear anything I just said?"

"What? Oh yes … yes I did actually." He assured. "Anyway, I did score something from the pantry. That little Labrador I left in your kitchen. I rather felt sorry for him, being left alone in that trailer and all."

He hesitated, pleased to hear a soft "uh-huh" from the other end and then continued. "I mean, he's all alone now. "

"Uhhuh ..." She repeated. "You … said that … already."

"Sorry. Didn't mean to repeat myself. It's just so sad. Him loosing someone he loved like that. How would you like to be left all alone with no one to depend on? "

Staring at the crumbs on his plate, he casually sipped the tea … and waited.

She cleared her throat.

"You alright?" He asked.

"Um, yea …" Was her response, as she attempted to pretend the first half of the conversation didn't happen. " … about this phone number you left on the table."

He smiled, slipped money under the plate and then slid from the booth. He sauntered across the floor and then outside. The stars were very bright. He drew a breath. "Oh … that. Well, you did an excellent job of distracting your brother Corin, but what about next time?"

"Next time?"

"Just call the number ... tell her I sent you. If you trust me, you can trust her."

He could sense the wall going up even now. "Look Corin, you know I wouldn't steer you wrong. This morning you almost sleep walked into a car. And although you would never confirm it …you wanted to jump off of that bridge. You don't have to admit it to me, I know. And no one knows better than I do. But, I want you to live, and to live well … and Abbie would want that too. "

"Don't you dare tell me what Abbie ..." Her voice broke before finishing.

"You know I'm right, Corin. And you know I wouldn't be saying any of this if I didn't care. Just call her, and talk to her."

He closed the phone, sighing as he stuck it in his pocket. He hated psychiatrists. He had always despised those who think they are masters of the mind and emotions. People who feel emasculated by telling others what to think and feel.

But this one had helped him when he was at his lowest. She had not spoken condescendingly to him when he'd slit his wrists and drawn Red John's smiley face on the wall. He knew he could trust her to not have Corin locked in some institution when she should be out living her life.

Corin heard the phone disconnect. She stared at her own phone before eventually setting it down and curling into the corner of the couch. She may have manipulated Wayne, but Jane was the real master manipulator. He had always known how to play her since the day she and Abbie met him on the beach.

_Damn him, why did he have to talk about Abbie? _

She flinched and then eyed the little puppy who'd jumped up on the couch. "How did you get out?"

It whimpered softly, crawling over her feet and settling in behind her knees. At second glance, It did look sad, with it's ears flopped over its head and its brown eyes turned up to hers.

She sighed, turning to switch off the light. She dragged the throw from the back of the couch and pulled it over her and then bunched up a pillow for her head.

There the two of them lay in the darkness. The trees waved in the breeze making shadows on the wall, while the old house creaked and groaned.

"So." She whispered. "You lost someone too."


End file.
